


A Thing, or Two

by heavy_cream



Series: Embers [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Facials, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scenting, Schmoop, Smut, all the cuddly sex, with you know the kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavy_cream/pseuds/heavy_cream
Summary: Derek gets tipsy* and Stiles is fond.*not reallyEdit 28/03/18





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit 28/03/18**  
>  I edited this because I felt the sex wasn't hot enough and I really wanted this to be steamy but also cuddly. Like, cuddle-fucking. It's a thing. That I like. So I added 500 words of sex to it.
> 
> I also didn't like the implications of Derek being drunk which he really isn't so I fixed that as well. Rest assured everyone is very much consenting and in their proper mental faculties to do so.
> 
> Lastly, since this is part of series that I am writing which will actually have a proper backstory, I wanted to make it fit withing this universe properly, so there were some very minor edits made to make that work.
> 
> Woefully unbetaed but feel free to give me concrit.
> 
> This will have a chapter 2 soon ♥

Stiles closed the door behind him and dropped the keys in the little bowl next to the door. 

"Honey, I'm home!" Stiles called closing the door and dropping his keys on the table next to the door. The greeting had started as a joke, Stiles is unable to recall what the joke actually was, but after two decades, it had stopped being a joke and become a routine. Even though the loft had changed over the years, filling up with actual furniture and appliances, it had retained the open floor concept and Stiles could see Derek sitting on the couch, tilting his head in his direction.

Stiles shrugged out of his jacket and made his way towards Derek, watched as he smiled softly in his direction. 

"Welcome home," Derek greeted as Stiles stepped closer. Stiles raised his brows as he took in Derek on the couch, loose limbed and relaxed in a way that rarely came to him unless sex had been involved or… He a glanced down, noticed the glass in Derek’s hand with a sliver of amber liquid still in it.

“Isaac came by,” Derek answers the unasked question.

“And bearing gifts, I see,” Stiles added amused. Derek’s lips twitched but let Stiles tug the glass out of his hand. Stiles set the tumblr on the coffee table next to the mostly full bottle that Isaac had surely brought as gift. It was a rare occasion, seeing him so unguarded and Stiles could almost feel the content vibrating off of him. It always pleased Derek to see members of his pack, to know that they were well.

Derek reached out, hooked a finger in Stiles’ belt loop and tugged him forward so that Stiles stood directly in between Derek’s legs. 

“How’s the pup?” Stiles asked as he curled his hand around Derek’s outstretched wrist, the caress completely instinctive, born out of the need of always reaching back, his fingers resting directly on the pulse. Stiles had always been incredibly tactile, had become even more so after he’d learned what touch meant to Werewolves, to Derek, and it was one of the many things Derek loved about him, how easy affection came to him, how touch was a way of reassuring both of them.

“You are aware that he is over forty years old,” Derek replied flexing his forearm as if reigning in the desire to pull Stiles closer.

“Uhu. How’s the pup?” Stiles asked again, eyebrows twitching up and Derek felt himself smile. He gave in to the urge and tugged on the belt loop, wanting to feel him closer, but all Stiles did was let his hips sway with the motion, and remained standing, looking down fondly at him.

“He is well, thinking about coming back to Beacon Hills actually.”

“Oh, for good?” 

Derek shrugged but Stiles knew better, knew that Derek would love to have his scattered pack back home. 

“It’s nothing defined yet, just, an option.”

“Hm it will be good, seeing all of them at the Anniversary party.” 

“Yeah,” Derek sighed and slid his other hand over Stiles’ thigh, fingers gliding softly over the bumps and folds of the fabric. He pulled again, using enough force to make Stiles stumble gracelessly forward.

Stiles huffed out a laugh even as he braced himself on the back of the couch to avoid just smacking straight into him. Derek made an adorable annoyed noise and tugged again. 

“How drunk _are_ you?” Stiles asked exasperated and fond at the same time, but obliged Derek by moving forward to sit astride his lap. Derek embraced him fully pulling him closer so they sat snug, chest to chest, and buried his face in Stiles neck.

“Not drunk,” he mumbled as a reply and sighed when Stiles ran his nails over Derek’s scalp, enjoying both the feel of Derek’s rich, thick hair, but also the way he always went pliant when he did it. 

They were silent, enjoying each other’s quiet presence. Stiles watched idly how his fingers slid through the dark strands. He loved Derek’s hair, used to be secretly envious of it when he was younger. He loved it even more now that age had started to gray his hair at the temples. It made him look distinguished and elegant and Stiles knew that in a few more years, it would go completely white at the sides. 

It gave him a thrill, seeing the small signs of age, to know that they had been together for so long that he could see them. He continued carding his fingers through it, scratching gently against the skin, watched as Derek leaned into the touch, an oddly animalistic behavior. Stiles smiled. He loved those little signs too, when the wolf came to surface without Derek being fully aware of it. It showed in the way Derek would lean into his touch, would completely ignore personal space, the way how Derek would sometimes stand completely still in a way that humans were not able to do but that came natural to animals. IT showed, in the way Derek would cock his head to a side when concentrating on sounds. He used to bring it up, because he wasn’t able to control the affection it would bring to see Derek oddly embarrassed by it. He still does sometimes, but it doesn’t bring out embarrassment anymore, instead it’s pride, and Stiles loves it when Derek is proud of himself.

“I like having you close,” Derek murmured apropos of nothing, moving back to look at him, eyes opening just a slit, the warm yellow light in the room turning his irises brown, and Stiles felt his look like physical touch. He catalogued him then, taking in the fine lines that fanned out at the corner of his eyes, the frown line in between his eyebrows because even though the last years have been happy ones, Derek is the brooding kind. He trailed a thumb across his lips and Derek nipped at it.

“How close?” Stiles asked and Derek leaned forward again even as he pulled Stiles closer, rubbing his cheek against his collarbone and pressing his nose against his neck.

“Close enough to smell myself on you,” he murmured directly into Stiles ear making him shiver as his arousal spiked. It had been years and years of them together like this, and yet just hearing Derek’s voice go deep with lust and possessiveness was enough to bring out the longing that never seemed to go away. Knowing that it went both ways, knowing that in reality, Derek hadn’t taken Stiles as much as he had given himself freely to him always made him heady. At first it had terrified Stiles, when he’d realized that he had been handed this amazing, fragile thing, a battered and beaten heart, because Stiles had been at the time still fumbling his way through life, through his own heart, his head. But Derek had simply waited for him, his trust absolute and unwavering, because he had believed in Stiles when Stiles hadn’t. 

“Do I?” Stiles asked, rhetorical really because he knew he did, their scents mingled irrevocably into something entirely new and uniquely to both of them. 

“Yes,” Derek replied and trailed his teeth down Stiles neck. “You also went by the bakery and pet a cat of all things,” Derek said that last part with such complete and absolute exasperation that Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. A full belly thing that had him shaking in Derek’s arms and made Derek look at him slightly put off.

“You are such a puppy,” Stiles said grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him hard on the mouth, a smile curving his lips. Derek let out a growly sort of rumble, and before Stiles could figure out what was happening, his back hit the couch and Derek leaned over him. He pressed Stiles down using his body, muscles flexing enticingly and Stiles wished he was naked so he could appreciate it more. 

“Oh god, I take it back, you are big bad wolf,” Stiles said with a smile and Derek his own arousal course through him, because Stiles wanted him, all of him, loved him and the wolf, would never choose one without the other. 

“Damn right I am,” he said smugly and made Stiles laugh again.

“You are so ridiculous, why do I even keep you?” Stiles sighed even as he circled his arms around Derek’s head to pull him down for a slow, wet kiss. Stiles kissed him like they had all the time in the world and Derek preened, knowing that he had shown Stiles to kiss like that. Had shown him the pleasure in going agonizingly slow. He adjusted his weight to lean on his forearms, tilted his head so he could deepen the kiss and make Stiles groan. He bit Stiles lip, gently, dragged himself away to mouth at his jaw.

“It’s been almost twenty years, there must be something worthwhile,” Derek murmured, trailing his mouth wetly against Stiles jaw, down to his ear to tug on a lobe briefly, to nose the hair behind it. His hand slid under Stiles’ sweater and shirt, fingers splaying over his belly and up to his ribs. 

“I can think of a thing or two,” Stiles gasped when Derek bit his neck hard enough for it to sting, the sensation turning into sheer pleasure when Derek continued to lick the abused skin.

“A thing or two?” Derek repeated, sliding his thigh in between Stiles’ pressing upwards so that Stiles hips moved seeking pressure instinctively and Derek sat up enough to take off his shirt in a single move, letting it drop on the floor next to the couch. Stiles licked his lips.

“Or three,” he added, completely unable to drum up any humor because age had been kind to Derek. His frame had broadened, the set of his shoulders looked wide and strong, muscle laid thick on his arms and lean on his chest, his stomach cut in a way that Stiles had never been able to achieve no matter how much he had trained. He reached out, trailed a hand down his chest, felt the muscles contract and then lower, grabbing hold of his belt to pull him close again.

Derek followed leaning into Stiles’ body, kissing him sloppily, a pleased rumble deep in his chest and Stiles felt like melting. The kiss remained languid but Derek’s hands were restless, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, so he touched everywhere, sliding under his sweater and shirt again, gliding over sinewy muscle, feeling the bumps of muscles and veins, down to his pelvis and up again. 

He ground his hips against Stiles’ pushing their confined erections against each other, the barely there pressure both torture and relief. They stayed like that for a while, rutting against each other like teenagers, on a couch too small for two grown men, kissing greedily as if they had never kissed before, as if they hadn’t done this dance for decades now. 

Stiles felt lightheaded.

“Bed,” he urged in between kisses and Derek hummed but didn’t move. Stiles’s made an effort to move, tried to sit up but only succeeded in arching his back when Derek moved a hand between them to press hard against his erection. The thought of moving towards the bed was completely replaced by one of just moving against that warm palm, of getting more friction where he needed. He ondulated his hips, starting to feel frantic because it was good but not enough, and let out a keening noise to let Derek know that he needed more. 

Derek moved away then, standing up and pulling Stiles with him but just enough to have him sit up the right way on the couch, and then proceeded to unhook his belt, his trousers. Though confused as of what Derek wanted to do, Stiles lifted his hips to help Derek slide down his jeans and boxers to pool somewhat uncomfortably around his calves.

Derek was kneeling between Stiles’ legs and reached out to grab his hips, pulling him forward closer to the edge of the couch, so that Stiles was mostly slouching in his seat.

“I want to suck you off,” Derek said and then without any preamble went straight to Stiles’ cock and sucked him down to the root. Stiles let out a harsh breath, the noise caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, and his hand went straight to Derek’s head. The heat and pressure was almost too much too fast, his arms quivered as he desperately held on. Derek bobbed his head in a slow steady rhythm, hollowing out his cheeks to suck him down and Stiles felt like he was going to die. He arched his back, not sure whether he wanted more or whether he was trying to move away entirely, overloaded with heat and wetness and sensation. He felt Derek spread his legs further and he lost his breath for a moment, opened his mouth in a silent cry as goosebumps rose on his flesh, a shiver starting at the nape and racing down to his toes.

His hands tightened on Derek’s skull, and he curved his body forward, just holding on while Derek swallowed around him and _hummed_. Stiles felt himself brought to the brink of orgasm between one breath and the next, and would have probably come if Derek hadn’t slid back up to mouth at the tip, licking up precome like it was a reward. 

He licked down Stiles’ erection all the way down to his pelvis, nosing the hair there briefly, eyes closed in pleasure. He pressed open mouth kisses there, his tongue flicking out to lick at the base before reaching out with a hand to steady him and sucking him down again. 

Stiles’ released him to curl his hands into loose fists, clenching rhythmically with Derek’s movements. He wanted to watch, to see Derek so clearly lost in pleasure but found himself unable to keep his eyes open, was actually afraid he would come if he did see Derek. 

He did look when he felt Dereke move, and groaned when he realized that Derek had used his other hand to unhook his own trousers, had slid them down his hips just enough to be able to grab his own erection and tug on it frantically.

Stiles pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, he was so aroused he could hardly breath, had lost control over his own body as his hips jerked forward without any clear direction from him. Derek groaned and stopped, and Stiles looked at him again. His eyes were hooded, dark with arousal, his mouth just resting around his tip so that his lips looked plump and lush and waited.

Stiles tilted his hips forward and Derek closed his eyes but didn’t move. He repeated the move again, reaching out to touch his cheek and Derek leaned into the palm, letting out a needy whimper. 

“Fuck,” Stiles panted and began moving his hips forward and backward, thrusting into Derek’s pliant mouth, and shook with the effort of going slow, of staying shallow. Derek wouldn’t move, but would greedily suck on him to keep him coming back, to get him to go deeper, his breath coming out in muffled pants. 

Stiles thumb rubbed the corner of Derek’s mouth and Derek moved enough to suck it along with his dick, tongue lapping at it and Stiles jolted forward with a curse, his dick hitting the back of Derek’s throat and Derek’ whined. His hand on his cock sped up and Derek moved again, this time greedily, sliding down quick and shallow and then deep and languid and Stiles couldn’t catch his breath.

He slid his hand into Derek’s hair again, fingers twitching against the scalp and couldn’t keep quiet, moans escaping him as Derek brought him closer to orgasm and at the same time seemed to hold him on the brink of it, the alternating rhythm being both too much and not enough at the same time.

He opened his eyes then, looked at Derek ready to beg, but didn’t get a chance to do so because Derek looked at him instead, as if he were begging him instead, and he let out a desperate sounding whine muffled by Stiles’s cock, and Stiles was suddenly there. He arched forward, grabbed his dick with one hand and the clenched the other one in Derek’s hair, and with monumental effort pulled Derek away from his dick. He let out a shout as his orgasm seemed to rip through, his dick growing impossibly hard and he felt like he would come forever, pleasure coursing through his entire body, and watched himself come on Derek’s face, streaking him all the way down to this chest in one single spurt.

They rarely did this, because Stiles always felt self conscious about it, but it was always worth it to watch Derek’s face, the slight surprise followed by intense and utter pleasure, because as much as Derek liked marking Stiles, he absolutely loved getting marked by Stiles. Derek let out a keening noise, throwing his head back, presenting himself for Stiles to mark, his hand a blur as he jerked himself off, his other hand reaching toward his chest to slide his fingers through Stiles’ come.

Stiles was shaking, he could feel his dick twitch as if trying to give Derek more spunk to rub. Derek bowed forward, resting his forehead against Stiles knees, his breathing coming out harsh and needy and desperate. Stiles sat up properly and lifted Derek’s head to kiss him, tongues moving uncoordinated and sloppily against each other. 

“Stiles,” Derek keened and Stiles pushed him down to the floor, landing uncoordinatedly next to him.

“Come on,” Stiles urged,leaned close to tug on his earlobe, to run his tongue against the shell of his ear. He placed his fingers directly on a stripe of come and rubbed it over his chest, down a nipple. 

“Come on,” he repeated and bit down on his neck, nails scraping down his other pectoral, dragging the come down to his belly and Derek fell apart. He came with a hoarse shout, his hand still moving, fucking himself through his orgasm, eyes screwed shut tightly as his body first arched against the floor and then bowed forward. 

“Fuck,” Stiles murmured and Derek felt his hips jerk forward and with a sudden desperate need to feel Stiles. He reached out with weak, clumsy hands and Stiles was there, over him, kissing him sloppy and uncoordinated, and Derek felt like he was drowning in scent and taste. Everything was Stiles, over him, in him, and he shook with it. 

“So good,” Stiles crooned against his lips and Derek sighed with the praise. 

Stiles collapsed on Derek’s chest, suddenly exhausted and dizzy, and his ears were ringing and he couldn’t feel his legs but he would care about all that later. Derek recovered enough to curl a heavy arm around him, pulling him closer, and turning his head to nuzzle at Stiles hair.

They stayed like that, catching their breaths lying on the floor as sweat and come dried on their bodies, with limbs growing heavy, with Stiles face smushed against Derek muscled chest and Derek nose buried in his messy hair. It wasn’t meant to be comfortable, Stiles’ trousers were still on, tangled around his ankles, feeling hot where he was covered by his shirt and sweater, cold where his legs touched the cold hard floor, and his dick was pressed against the rough waistband of Derek’s jeans, which were still bunched around his thighs. But there was a level of comfort there that had nothing to do with orgasms, and everything to do with the absent way Derek was stroking his back, with the familiar sounds and smells of their home, with Derek’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled after a while his head finally caught up with the experience. He was fighting the urge to fall asleep on the floor because he knew, that his body would resent it come morning and he’d ache for a week. 

“Hmm,” Derek sighed pleased and pulled Stiles closer.

“We are a mess.”

“Hmm,” Derek agreed and Stiles looked up. Derek had his eyes closed, seemed ready to sleep half naked on the floor and Stiles realized that he had to be the responsible adult. With a groan he pushed himself up to a sitting position, grimaced slightly at the dried come on his hand, his sleeve and - jesus - his face, and toed off his shoes. Derek watched him through half lidded eyes, amused and relaxed, his hand sliding down his back, under his shirt to feel the skin there, the desire to touch him never quite abated.

Stiles succeeded in taking off his trousers and then poked him in the ribs.

“Come on, we are not sleeping on the floor, that is a terrible idea,” he said and stood up, wobbling slightly on his weak legs, and stood there, wearing his rumpled sweater, shirt sleeves peeking out from underneath, framing oddly his limp dick. He was still wearing socks though one was crumpled around an ankle, his hair was mussed wildly on one side and completely flat on the other, come dry and flaky on his cheek, eyes sleepy and sated, and Derek thought he’d never been more in love than in that moment.

Derek stood up, pulling his trousers back over his hips, and leaned forward to kiss Stiles’ complaint away, giving in to the urge of tasting him. He pulled back after a moment, satisfied at Stiles’ dreamy look and then promptly bent down to unceremoniously throw him over a shoulder. 

“Hey,” Stiles exclaimed tensing but Derek simply held him tighter and carried him upstairs towards the bed. He lowered him effortlessly, dumped him in the middle of the sheets and watched him bounce slightly. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles sputtered and let himself be manhandled enough to have his sweater and shirt removed in one single, very impressive and practiced, move. 

“Well, that was thing one,” Derek said and Stiles blinked confused, his brain still not completely back online from his orgasm, but Derek was shucking of his own jeans, dropping all in a messy heap on the floor that Stiles would stumble over come morning. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Stiles and leant down to kiss him dirty and messy. “This is thing two,” he added with a smug smirk, and Stiles got it then.

“God I forget refractory periods is something that happens to other people when it comes to you,” Stiles groaned, his mind being completely on board with a second round but his body was letting him know that he was a middle aged man and that it didn’t take five minutes anymore. Unless you were a Werewolf in which case it happened pretty much at will apparently.

“We have time,” Derek replied almost absent minded, kissing his way down Stiles chest, running his hand down Stiles’ arm. Stiles turned his palm upward, encouraged Derek’s fingers to slide in between his own, and smiled.

“Yeah, we do,” he answered softly, closed his eyes, and let himself drown in love and lust again.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Edit 28/03/18**  
>  LIKE A YEAR LATER, I finally came back to it and am much more satisfied with it now. The story remains the same except the sex is sexier, the cuddles are cuddlier, and schmoop is schmoopier.
> 
> I also want to say to everyone who has read and kudosed and bookmarked and commented: thank you so much. It means the world to me to hear what you think and feel when reading my stories, to hear what you enjoyed the most, it helps me be a better writer. Please feel free to reach out, to ask questions and do requests and to share this story. I am intensely intrigued by what you as a reader like to read.


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